Secret Keeper

by Harlan, Christopher

  “After you left, she came back. It was maybe two hours after you’d both left. She came looking for you, actually. She was worried that she’d embarrassed you or made a bad impression, so she came back to apologize.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Soraya decided to invite her in. We both told her that she didn’t owe us, or anyone else, an apology—that it was a pleasure to have her as a guest in our home.”

  “And what did she say to that?”

  “She didn’t,” he tells me. “She just broke down and started crying. Soraya is better at dealing with those things than I am, so she sat her down on the couch, made her some tea, and talked to her until she calmed down.”

  Soraya is the best. She really is. “Good. I’m glad she came to you guys. What did she tell you?”

  “That Chandler is attacking her family—and not just the sister with special needs, but threatening to call in a favor and have her parents evicted from their home in Queens. All sorts of terrible things.”

  “I didn’t even know about that part.” For a second, I was feeling guilty about what happened, but now I don’t. Hearing what I just heard makes me wish I’d beaten him even more.

  “What happened in that apartment, Dylan?”

  Here it goes. I think back for a second, trying to put myself into the mindset I had when I stormed out of my place and over to his. “I was angry—really angry. It’s one thing to fuck with me, or even to be a ruthless businessman, but it’s another thing to be an evil son-of-a-bitch. Trying to force a woman to live with you and pretend that you’re still together by threatening her family is above and beyond, and I just broke.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I marched to his apartment and started beating my fist against his door. He opened it up pretty quickly, like he was standing right there waiting for someone, and as soon as he did I traded slamming my fists against his door to slamming them against his face. Then his body. I think I may have broken some of the expensive stuff he has sitting around the place also, I can’t remember. I’m sure it’ll be in the police report.”

  I take a huge deep breath and put my head down. I know that I just fucked everything up worse than it was before. I gave into a momentary impulse to get revenge, and now I’ve given Chandler everything he needs to legally ruin my life.

  “I’m screwed, aren’t I? He’s going to press charges, take me to court, take every penny I ever made, and then move on to world domination.”

  “Hey,” Graham says, forcing my head off the table. “Sit up right now.”

  He sounds like a drill sergeant, and for some reason I just do what he says. He has a different tone to his voice than he did a minute ago, and I respond to it right away. “What’s the matter?”

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? I mean, you used to have some balls. You used to be unafraid. That was one of the reasons I hired you in the first place—because you had a take-the-world-by-the-balls attitude, even though you had no business doing so. That’s the kind of boldness you have in you. That’s what I’ve always respected about you, Dylan. Now it’s time to get some of that back.”

  I smile. “You respect me?”

  “Of course I do. I always have.”

  “Thanks, man, that means the world. It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. You don’t exactly wear your emotions on your sleeve or anything.”

  “No one in my position does. In the business world, emotion equals vulnerability, and vulnerability equals weakness.”

  “I get that. Where I’m from it’s the same. We’re not that different, you know? We just come from different worlds with the same values.”

  This time he grins. “Different worlds with the same values—I like that.”

  “Thanks. Thought of it myself in between wondering what my cell mate’s name is going to be, and how often he’s going to expect me to jerk him off when he’s had a hard day of fighting and drug dealing.”

  That one gets a huge laugh—so much so that the people around us look over to see what’s going on. “That was a hilarious image. But it’s going to stay just that, don’t you worry.”

  “What does that mean? No cell mate who insists I blow him every morning?”

  “Not unless you really want that—and the more you talk about it the more I’m starting to think it’s less of a fear and more of a fantasy.”

  “Unless you’re my cell mate, that’s just not true, Graham.”

  “Well, you can blow me if you like, but it should be a thank you for keeping you out of trouble for your little. . . indiscretion.”

  My ears perk up for the first time during this entire conversation. “Keeping me out of trouble?”

  “Let’s just say that I made a few calls and phoned in a few favors. If we leave it at that, you have plausible deniability. I mostly stay on the sidelines in things like this, even if they include someone I’ve come to respect, like yourself. But the truth is, you’re more than just an ex-employee to me, and Chandler is a monster of the highest order. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but sometimes the only person who can check someone with power is someone with even more power. So, consider him checked, at least from a legal standpoint.”

  Holy shit. I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now—any of it. Not the part where Graham considers me a friend, or the part where he respects me, and definitely not the part where he said he wielded some of that considerable influence he has to get me out of this assault charge. Wow.

  I put my hand across the table. It’s the only thing that makes sense to do. “Thank you, Graham. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “You can thank me by getting under this table and blowing me right after we finish our waffles.”

  I laugh harder than he laughed before, and I get the same stares. The people in this diner must think we’re insane. “Only if Soraya is okay with it, I don’t want to step on any toes.”

  “I think she’d actually be relieved that she didn’t have to bother anymore.” We laugh and talk some more—bullshit guy stuff mostly. I’m happy to dodge all of the serious topics until Graham brings it back to what his mind is always thinking about—business. “What you should take from this experience is that you need to be your own man—you need to start that business with your friend, the Cuban, what’s his name?”

  “Jorge.”

  “Yes, Jorge. If he’s got the capital and the interest, and you’re both serious, it’s worth taking a shot. What’s the worst that can happen? You fail and end up working for some temperamental billionaire asshole? There are worse things in life, you know?”

  “This is true.”

  He’s right. He’s absolutely right. “I was discussing that very thing with Jorge the other day. It’s not a cheap buy in for some of the properties we’ve been looking into. Prime Manhattan real estate isn’t cheap.”

  “Tell me about it. Do you have the capital?”

  “I do. I’ve been saving up since I met you. Well, almost. That first paycheck was a lot, and I blew more than a little of it, but after that I got smart and saved my pennies. I’d rather use that money than take out debt right away.”

  “Smart,” he says. “See, you have a head for business.”

  “Thanks for your support. I think we’re going to move forward. Take our shot. If we fail, I can always be your really expensive babysitter out in the Hamptons. I could get used to beach life.”

  “I’m sure you could. But that’s almost as horrifying an image as you having to blow your cell mate in prison. There’s a simple way around changing diapers and following me and Soraya around like a puppy dog.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask. “And what’s that?”

  “Simple, Dylan. Not easy, but simple. Just don’t fail, no matter what.”

  We finish up and I head home. When I get to my place, I don’t expect Penelope to still be lying asleep in my bed, but I definitely don’t
expect what I see sitting on my couch.

  It’s an envelope with my name on it.

  Great. Just when I think things were looking up.

  46

  Penelope

  An hour earlier

  I don’t believe that I’m about to put on paper the words I was hoping to avoid, but I don’t think that I have a choice anymore.

  Dylan doesn’t know this—he thinks that I was asleep, but I saw the cops taking him out of here. I heard the sirens. I heard the ambulance approaching the building, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

  He loves me—he has to. What man would risk his livelihood and even his freedom just to defend the honor of a woman he didn’t love? And to tell you the truth, I’m falling for him also. I’m lying to myself—there’s no present tense there. I fell for him already.

  But my feelings—our feelings—don’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re no good for each other. All I’m doing is what I never wanted to do—bring my personal drama into another person’s life, especially a man I feel so strongly towards. He doesn’t deserve this and neither do I, but here we are.

  I know what I have to do to keep everything smooth—to keep Dylan out of jail, to keep my sister safe, to keep my life stable, even if it’s unhappy. I know what needs to be done, I just need the courage to actually go through with it. But first, I need to let Dylan know what’s happening.

  This isn’t a text situation, but I also don’t have a face to face confrontation in me right now either. I find a pen and a piece of paper, and I write to tell him how strongly I feel about him, and why we can’t be together.

  Maybe one day he’ll forgive me.

  47

  Dylan

  The following day

  Espresso as good as Jorge’s doesn’t solve a broken heart—but it’s the best alternative I have to sitting and sulking in my empty apartment, so that’s where I find myself after reading her letter.

  She blew me off for Chandler, again. I guess he won after all. I shouldn’t be mad, right? Those are the dues sometimes. I see Jorge, working his ass off as usual, and I go to sit at the bar.

  “Hermano, what’s going on? Do you ever smile, bro?”

  Ironically, I give him a smile for pointing out that I never smile. “See. There you go.”

  “That’s not a real smile. Trust me I know the difference. What’s got you down this time? More rich people drama?”

  This would be the point in the conversation where I normally say something glib like ‘what else’, but I don’t have witty banter in me today. “For once, I wish that were the case. This is more serious than all that.”

  “Ah, I see. That hot little thing who was in here that day? What happened?”

  “Wait, how did you even know that?”

  He snickers, hard. “There’s a particular look a man gets when it’s a woman got him down in the dumps. I hate to tell you, my friend, but you’re wearing that mask right now. You might as well get that shit off of your chest.”

  “Fine. But I’m going to need some caffeine first.”

  “I got you, bro.”

  He makes me an espresso. I down the whole thing in a single gulp like a true drug addict, then I’m ready to talk. “The thing is—she has feelings for me, and I have feelings for her. She met Nonna and everything.”

  “Holy shit. You didn’t tell me it was that serious.”

  Jorge’s never met Nonna, but he knows my story, and he knows that I’d never just bring some random girl home to meet my grandmother, let alone to share Sunday dinner with her. “Yeah. It’s that serious, man.”

  “Everything sounded good. So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m torn. She’s got some attachments to her ex. He’s kind of an asshole, you know?”

  “Do I ever. So what’s the problem, she’s still into him? ‘Cause if that’s the case, you don’t want any part of that situation, trust me.”

  “It’s not that,” I tell him. “It’s more like she feels. . . indebted to him. Like she owes him because he helped her out, financially.”

  “And you’re okay with that? You’re just going to let that fine-looking woman go because she feels guilty some asshole gave her some money? That doesn’t sound like you at all, man.”

  “I’m not letting that go, but what the hell am I supposed to do when she tells me to back off?”

  “Ignore her and fight for her anyways.”

  “Yeah, we have stalking laws about that kind of thing, Jorge.”

  “Did I ever tell you my father’s story?”

  I think for a second. “Only that he’s a Cuban refugee who came here for a better life. Classic immigrant stuff.”

  “Classic immigrant stuff except that it wasn’t his life he was trying to improve.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think every Cuban who came here was fleeing the Castro regime? Most, sure, but my father had every reason in the world to stay. He was high up in the communist party Cuba. His life was just about perfect.”

  “Wait, your dad’s a Commie?”

  “Excuse me?” he says, offended.

  “I’m sorry, that shit came out all wrong. It’s just a little jarring when you hear your friend’s dad is a Communist.”

  “You had to be in Cuba back then. There’s only one political party in a country with a dictator, and in Cuba, that party is the Communist party. He doesn’t believe in any of that bullshit, trust me. My dad’s really a capitalist at heart, but he did what he had to do to keep his life where he wanted it to be.”

  “So if he had such a great life, then why did he defect to the U.S.?”

  “My father was a very influential man in Cuba—well respected and well taken care of. He had everything that he ever wanted.”

  “What changed?’ I ask.

  “Mariela. Mariela is what changed. Or, I guess I should say that she’s what changed him. He fell in love, hard. Nothing he could have done to stop it, it just happened. But her father—my grandfather—was a political enemy of Fidel Castro, and her whole family was in danger of being killed.”

  “Jesus. So what happened?”

  “My father happened. He used his power and influence to sneak my mother and her family out of the country to Miami, then eventually to, as he calls it, Nuevo York.”

  “That must have been really dangerous?”

  “Dangerous? You have no idea. From what he told me and my brothers—and I’m sure we never got the full story, he almost got caught a few times. That would have been the end for him—life in prison, or maybe even worse. It’s not easy smuggling an entire family out of the country. But he did it, and we all started a new life in America. Immigrant stuff, you know?”

  “Immigrant stuff.”

  “But look, man, my point is that—the man had everything, and. . .”

  “He gave it all up for the woman he loved.”

  “Exactly. And coming to America with nothing didn’t mean he had nothing forever—it was just a temporary state for men like my father. He was going to be successful no matter what. He drilled that into me and my brothers as well—that’s why I’ve been pressuring you to get our business going.” I reach out my hand. “Why are we shaking?”

  “That’s what business partners do.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, man.”

  “I’m too tired and sad to fuck with anyone. This is for real. We’ll work out some of the details on a day I’m actually feeling like myself. Right now, I need to go.”

  “Cool, we’ll talk later.”

  “You got it.”

  I step outside. Funny that I came here for coffee and to feel sorry for myself, but I’m going to leave with some inspiring words—go figure. One of the great things about the city is that it’s built for walking. Some of the best thoughts I’ve ever had have come on long Manhattan walks.

  Fifteen minutes pass, and every step of that has been spent thinking about Jorge’s family story. It’s truly inspirin
g. A man who was willing to give up everything he’s worked for just to create a better life for the woman he loves.

  A better life for the woman he loves. . .

  I almost get run over by a cab because I stop in the street like I’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. But what’s really happened is that I had one of my moments—that’s what I call them.

  ‘My moments’ are the handful of times in my life where I know exactly what I need to do next. It’s almost as if I’m seeing the future as a series of images in my mind, and they come out of nowhere. It happened when I knew I was going to join the military. It happened again when I accepted the job with Graham.

  And it just happened again.

  I know what I need to do to make everything right. I need to move quickly. I only have a couple of days.

  A better life for the woman I love.

  48

  Penelope

  Today is the big day.

  Well, sort of. Today is the day before the big day—another party to celebrate the big business deal that Chandler’s been working on forever. In another life, I imagined this day with anticipation—of being proud of my future husband, of imagining the amazing life that we were going to have afterwards. But now this deal just represents everything that went wrong.

  Chandler doesn’t seem phased at all—the smile on his face just won’t come off. It’s like the man himself—smug, arrogant, a little too self-assured. But I understand. He won. He got his way, like he always manages to do, and now he’s reaping the fruits of his labor.

  I’m one of those fruits—a spoil of warfare in his sick mind, and in a minute, I’m going to have to pretend to not be miserable as we have a special dance like it’s a fucking wedding.

  Everyone is here—the CEO of the company that’s purchasing his social media app, all of his shareholders, his employees, everyone. This is his big moment, and I’m about to move my feet around a dance floor in celebration of something I’d rather see burned to the ground.